


The Consequences of Love

by Tavalya_Ra



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: M/M, Slash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2005-10-22
Updated: 2005-10-22
Packaged: 2017-11-13 04:55:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 13,266
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/499720
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tavalya_Ra/pseuds/Tavalya_Ra
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Severus Snape learns that Legilimency and love can put a bizarre twist on murder. (Retroactively AU- this fic was written before the release of "The Deathly Hallows".)</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Consequences of Love

**Author's Note:**

> This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by J. K. Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended. Rowling is a goddess; may she have mercy on my soul for writing this.

            Severus Snape was well acquainted with murder. Experience taught him that it was best to treat the act impersonally. Anger was rarely constructive and vengeance often failed to satisfy.

            “Severus…”

            He tried to ignore the voice, knowing its plea merely urged him to do as he intended anyway. Others would guess that Albus Dumbledore was begging for his life; only Severus knew he was asking for his death. He stepped forward, shoving Draco Malfoy out of his path, looked directly into Albus’ eyes-

            And realized he could not do it.

            _You must_ , the Unbreakable Vow demanded, clenching his throat and twisting his guts. _You must_ , he read in Albus’ eyes.

_I can’t. I can die for you, let me die for you, I can’t-_

The thought that came to him from Albus was gentle, its kindness unnatural given the circumstances that birthed it. _Then I shall help you._

            Albus tore into his memory. Faces- James Potter, his father, Voldemort- flashed before him. He was sixteen and his blood was rushing to his head as he dangled upside down, laughter ringing painfully in his ears… He was seven and huddled under the covers while his father screamed and his mother sobbed, wishing more than anything he was old enough for a wand… He was thirty-five and writhing on the floor, biting his tongue and refusing to scream although he knew it was exactly what the Dark Lord wanted…

            The skin of his face felt taunt, twisted as he flushed with hate. It was enough to fuel the spell, which would not care if the animus he felt was for the man before him or not.

            “Severus… please…”

            Albus nudged Severus to raise his wand. Albus stood in his mind and all but spoke the two words that were the only goodbye their circumstance allowed.

            “ _Avada Kedavra!_ ”

            Severus’ thoughts flew faster than his spell in a frantic attempt to maintain the link between their minds, to draw Albus’ last perceptions into his head. He succeeded. He saw the jet of green light leave the wand opposed him, felt it hit his chest and stop his heart as if Albus had cast the curse, as if he were the one to die… and then his awareness was wrenched from the headmaster’s body and slammed back into his own. With his own eyes, he witnessed Albus sail through the air and then felt the world crash.

            Instinct took over. He turned and ran, called for Draco and the others to follow because a part of his brain disconnected from himself commanded him to do so. Through his mind’s eye he observed himself with detachment- a demon fleeing hallowed ground, melding with the night. Then he heard Potter bellow behind him, hurling taunts and hexes, and his composure shattered.

            “DON’T-” he screamed, his heart wrenched, “-CALL ME COWARD!”

            He shouldn’t give a damn what Potter thought, but his heart thundered in his ears and each pulse was a shudder as terrible as the fire of the Cruciatus Curse. How _dare_ Potter presume to know his loves, his hates, his innermost secrets and devotion? He would have ransomed the world for Albus Dumbledore and he had just _killed_ _him!_

            He wanted to curse the boy into insensibility, but knew he had to settle for much less. With a flick of his wand, he conjured a coil of light that stung Potter’s face and knocked the boy backwards. Then he spun around to bolt for the Apparation boundary. From behind, Hagrid’s hippogriff screeched in rage. The wind from its powerful wings rippled against him; a talon tore through his cloak, coming within a centimeter of gouging open his back. Terror seized him, but better that than then the throbbing, incensed despair that seemed to rack his entire body. He leapt as he reached the edge of Hogwarts and Disapperated.

            A broken street lamp flickered, providing an intermittent light that drew shadows upon the cobblestones of Spinner’s End. The beat of Severus’ heart slowed as he began to accept that, momentarily, he was safe. The Muggles here were consumed by the personal trivialities of their day-to-day toil and disappoints; none of them would care to note that the nasty man living at the end of the street dressed rather funny.

            _Welcome home, your majesty_ , he thought with bleak sardonicism. What better place than a tiny Muggle kingdom of despondence and fractured dreams for the castle of the Half-Blood Prince? Only here did he still think of himself by that title; he had long ago lost his pride in it. Here, he felt a touch of the old fear that one day he would wake up and find he had turned into Tobias Snape. Albus had uncovered that particular apprehension while delving through the layers of his mind many years ago and he remembered clearly what the headmaster had thought.

_“You have me. I won’t let you become such a thing.”_

_I don’t have you anymore_ , thought Severus.

            Suddenly, he could not breathe. A giant fist had tightened around his chest and his throat had closed around what felt like a shard of glass. In the middle of that dark, rundown street, he pressed his hands to his face and bit their heel to stop a sob. No kill had affected him like this. The others- so many more than Severus wished- had made him nauseous and repulsed. Killing Albus made him feel like the acid in his stomach was burning a hole in him.

            _I want to die._

            It was not a new or unfamiliar thought. Once, about seventeen years ago, it had been a constant litany in his head. Now it was returned and as intense as ever.

            _I want to die. How can I continue? How without you?_

            He took a last, ragged inhalation and then steadied his breath. With a yank, he straightened his robes. Another breath and he centered himself. He tilted his head up, squared his shoulders, and set his lips into a slight and unrevealing frown, one he might use to regard slow yet not entirely hopeless Slytherin in Potions. The only emotions his face displayed now were disdain and apathy, no trances of an agony unnatural when one killed an enemy. Over the years he had developed a talent for dissimulation that ran so deeply he might have forgotten who he was at the core if not for Albus to anchor him. Portraying a confidence that was entirely deception, he walked to the shabby house that Eileen and Tobias Snape had called home.

            His abode at Spinner’s End was in no worse decay than the rest of his life. The sitting room beyond the door contained furniture that was functional and nothing more- a sagging armchair, a threadbare sofa, shelves that supported their weight of their books but would likely crack if further strained. Wormtail waited while hunched beside the armchair, watery eyes glimmering eagerly a crumb of news. He seemed more like a rodent than ever to Severus; his nose was even twitching in anticipation, as if he could smell some cheese in Severus’ pocket.

            “How did it go?” he asked.

            Severus wanted to kick the him, strike him with the Cruciatus, rip him open with a penknife. Instead, he answered Wormtail with his usual level of contempt, “Well. Why don’t you clean the kitchen? I must prepare to report to our Lord.”

            He swept past Wormtail and entered his study, a tiny room with yet more bookcases sagging under volumes Severus never touched. The only tomes for which he cared were the potions manuals kept in his laboratory. Scorch marks on the walls evinced where his father’s certificates had once hung; Severus had incinerated them. He owed Tobias only his existence and he was not grateful for it.

            Hatred rose in his breast- he seized the emotion and began to nurse it. Good, this was a sentiment Voldemort would wish to find within him. A skillful application of Occlumency would convince the Dark Lord its origin was Albus. He had to still his grief now, suspend it until he could safely explore its depth. If the Dark Lord uncovered his true feelings, he would die tonight and the thought that he had killed Albus in vain was too much to bear.

            His mind was clear and ready to present the emotions he thought were fit- satisfaction, smugness, a hint of lingering hatred- by the time his Mark flared. Instantly, he knew to where his Lord wished him to Apparate. From the intensity of the burn, he knew would be a private audience and did not bother with his cloak or mask before Disapparating from the study.

            He appeared in a gray stone room large enough to accommodate all Death Eaters past and present. It was the audience chamber of the stronghold Voldemort had built decades ago and had only reclaimed last year; a Fidelius Charm to which the Dark Lord himself was Secret-Keeper had preserved it from the Ministry’s discovery. The room held no furniture save a jade throne carved with serpents and other emblems of Salazar Slytherin. Voldemort sat upon it, his unnaturally long fingers stroking its armrests. Beside him, Nagini lay coiled upon herself, regarding Severus with a lazy flick of her forked tongue yet giving him look of such keenness that he was certain Albus had been right: that snake did contain a piece of Voldemort’s soul. The walls were bare but for sconces in which burned green flames, casting the room in an eerie monotone broken only by Voldemort’s scarlet eyes. Green, Severus knew, was good; it meant the Dark Lord believed he was victorious.

            “Snape…” Voldemort commanded his attention, speaking with a measured tone. Another good sign; when angered, his voice was rough and grating.

            Severus looked directly into Voldemort’s eyes, thinking what pleasure it was to be within his Lord’s presence. Without even casting _Legilimens_ , the Dark Lord punctured his mind.

            He held before Voldemort a distorted mirror of memory. Amycus and the others had tried goading Draco into the kill, but the boy had been paralyzed. Severus had strode forward and Dumbledore had spoken his name in a plea, had looked into his eyes and tried to make contact- and Severus, with malicious satisfaction, had shoved his thoughts away. The old fool had tried again to plead, but it was years too late. Severus had allowed his loathing to etch itself upon his features for Dumbledore to see before he died how deep Severus’ hatred of him ran.

            “ _Avada Kedavra!_ ”

            Voldemort withdrew from Severus’ mind, ending the necessity of pantomime.

            “So. You truly are as loyal as you have always claimed,” Voldemort said. The flames turned blue, nearly prompting Severus to shudder. He did not know what blue meant. “You have done well, Snape. Trust that I know your talents. I will find uses for them. You will be rewarded.”

            Severus bowed his head. “You do not know what this means to me, my Lord.”

            “I wonder if you are right,” Voldemort mused. “Yes, I wonder… Go, now. I require nothing else of you tonight.”

            Dismissed, Severus Disapperated to Spinner’s End. The sound of Wormtail scampering out the sitting room greeted him as he opened the door. He didn’t bother addressing the man, who was likely hiding behind one of the bookcases, but went directly to his bedchamber. The room was as pathetic as the rest of the house, lit by a weakly flickering candle and furnished with a bed that had rusted posts and a sunken mattress. Rarely used, this chamber was now all he had after shattering the sanctuary of Hogwarts. He snuffed out the candle and then sat on the bed, which protested his weight with a creak.

            Severus hunched his shoulders, trembling as he remembered where and how he had slept last night. Twined around another, wondering if for the last time- he had the answer to that now. The fist returned and his breathing became erratic again. Something like a sob formed in his throat; it would stay there and fester along with every other sin- little or large, starting as far back as first-year and growing increasingly worse until tonight when he had finally committed a crime he knew he couldn’t top- that he had refused closure.

            _Albus…_

            He covered his face with his hands and stilled himself. He couldn’t, not even here, show any outward signs of his loss. Wormtail might be watching- Wormtail was here specifically _for_ watching, and that left only the silence of Severus’ mind in which to grieve.

            Severus lay down and stared into the darkness. He hadn’t thought his world could become any blacker- as usual, he was wrong. There was always something worse, but surely now he had found the purest distillation of misery, one that not even death would dispel. He knew he wasn’t going to find Albus Dumbledore in hell.

 

* * *

 

            There was a distinct drawback to being a Potions Master of Severus’ caliber. When one was talented enough to consider Polyjuice Potion a simple substance, most brewing wasn’t sufficiently mentally consuming to provide a distraction. Not even Veritaserum- his curdled thirty-eight percent of the time according to his calculations, but that was due to variables beyond his control- posed a significant challenge. He stared into his cauldrons of stewing lacewing and simmering mud-brown sludge, and thought of Albus.

            How had he managed to do it? He remembered feeling so strongly that he couldn’t, even with his old hatreds broiling inside him, and yet he remembered raising his wand and saying the words. He remembered being inside Albus and feeling him die.

            A Potions Master never cried into his cauldron, a Slytherin never showed remorse unless he had something to gain by it, a Death Eater never felt sorrow over a kill. Of those tenants, Severus only upheld the first. Numbed, he left his laboratory and walked into the kitchen.

            God, he hated this house. With the exception of his laboratory- his father’s old workshop torn apart and transfigured to resembled Hogwarts’ dungeons- everything was worn, mundane, and utterly Muggle. The cracked, leaky sink didn’t scrub the dishes- that was Wormtail’s job and one that, judging from the pile of bowls crusted with bits of soup or cereal, he had been neglecting- and the stove never bellowed a warning when the food was about to burn. The table and chairs were rickety, making them like every other bit of furniture in the house. In the center of the table was a chipped dish of sugar cubes, which Wormtail took in his tea. Severus had been disgusted to note any similarity, no matter how superficial, between Voldemort’s rat and Albus.

            The chair creaked as he sat. He picked up a sugar cube and rolled it between his fingers as he glanced out the window. There was really nothing else for him to do for at least twenty minutes, when the Veritaserum would be ready for the dragon spittle. The windowpanes were dirty, covered in a brown film that darkened whatever sunlight managed to reach Spinner’s End. Yet he was able to mentally remove the sepia filter and discern that beyond the glass, the sky was likely a striking blue and filled with billowy clouds.

            _It’s a lovely day_ , he thought and then sneered at himself. Why should he care for the color of the sky? If it was indeed a lovely day, then it was so in a place far distanced from here. Only gloom touched Spinner’s End and when he- if he- ever left this place, he would carry that bleakness with him like a shielding aura. He was living precisely for the reason he wanted to die- that Albus was gone, Albus had chosen Severus to continue on this side of the veil.

            He knew why. That didn’t ease the pain or make him hate himself any less, but at least he knew. Albus had- stupidly, in Severus’ opinion- considered his usefulness to the Wizarding world tapped once he had educated Harry Potter about the existence of Horcruxes. Severus, however, still had a mission, the prolonged pollution caused by his existence a purpose: to destroy the Horcruxes Potter could not reach. Nagini, under the protection of the stronghold’s Fidelius Charm, was one of them; Severus did not know yet if there were others. And there was also a hope that the headmaster had never confessed aloud, one Severus had found hidden in a knot of Albus’ thoughts: the possibility of his death inspiring Voldemort to trust Severus enough to inadvertently reveal information about the other containers of his mutilated soul.

            _You fool!_ Severus cried, furious and wishing for Albus’ ghost to rise so that he would have something to rage against besides a memory. _Fool to sacrifice yourself for so feeble a hope! You wasted your life- you’ve made mine an agony!_

Days ago he had realized that even without Wormtail’s presence or the possibility of Voldemort ravaging his mind, he could never properly mourn for Albus. To satisfy- to soothe, however perverse that was in this context- himself, he needed physical pain to parallel his internal torment. He wanted knives and poisons only shades less than lethal- he wanted to feel his blood rush warm across his skin and his insides to writhe with an actual pain, not just one his emotions led him to believe he felt. He wanted to repeat again and again the same sudden stop of the heart he had experienced in Albus’ body as the Killing Curse struck.

            Wormtail scuttled into the kitchen, snapping Severus from his masochistic contemplations to awareness of the kitchen and the present moment. Idly, he wondered how many _Crucios_ Voldemort would cast upon him for Kedavraing the little man. If the number was anything under fifty, it might be worth it.

            “Narcissa Malfoy is here,” Wormtail said. Even his voice was a squeak- did that have something to do with twelve years spent as a rat or had be been born so contemptible?

            Severus turned his thoughts from Wormtail and closed his eyes. Finally. He had known Narcissa would make an appearance and he wanted the trial of it over and done. She wasn’t a Legilimens, so he could at least think whatever vile and wretched thoughts he wanted, but it would take quite a bit of effort not to vomit on her when she began to effuse her gratitude. Likely, she adored him now and it sickened him that anyone might _love_ him on account of what he had done.

            He tossed his sugar cube at the sink and stood up. Completely ignoring Wormtail’s questioning stare, he stepped from the kitchen into his shamble of a parlor. There Narcissa waited, lovely as ever with her pale features giving her a death-like beauty. He remembered, a very long time ago, envying Lucius for the grace and elegance of his wife and marveled at how shallow he once had been. Now, the only appreciation he held for her appearance was little more than he would for a painting. She smiled at him, yet the gesture seemed weak. He had expected her to glow, but her equanimity was reserved. She stepped forward and embraced him.

            “Thank you,” she spoke in almost a whisper. He felt the puff of her breath on his ear. “You would have to be a mother to understand how much what you’ve done means to me. Thank you.”

            Severus smiled through his nausea and allowed his fingers to, for a moment, clench. “Something still troubles you.”

            She pulled away, yet kept her arms encircled around his neck. He found the closeness unsettling, but did not protest it. Smiling bravely, a gesture belied by the sudden crease of her forehead, she looked directly into his eyes. He could have delved into her thoughts were it necessary, but as it was not, he kept his mind to himself.

            “The Dark Lord is displeased that Draco did not fulfill the task himself. I think he intends to punish him.”

            “I am not surprised.”

            “But you told me yourself, he never really meant for Draco to do it! That the task was really meant for you!”

            Gently he lifted Narcissa’s hands from the back of his neck and clasped them together between his own. “That does not matter. Regardless of the Dark Lord’s actual intentions, Draco failed the task before him. And failure carries its price.”

            “Please.” Narcissa again pressed herself against him. Severus stiffened. “Please talk to him. You’ve proven yourself the greatest among us. Surely if he will listen to any of us it is you.”

            Somehow, Severus could not bring himself to hate Narcissa Malfoy. Despite his rage at what her Vow had compelled of him, he pitied her. She was probably the only person for which he truly felt compassion. Lucius treated her kindly, in a manner wholly unlike Tobias had Eileen, yet Severus constantly found himself regarding Narcissa in the same way as he did his mother. She loved Draco as was only natural, but the boy did not deserve it. Eileen had loved Severus, too, and he had failed her by becoming a horror. Yet pity was not a reason to dare Voldemort’s wrath. Narcissa’s love was unfortunate, but could not alter Severus’ intended course.

            “It is true our Lord has promised to reward me,” he acknowledged, “but that does not mean I can presume to advise him on his conduct. I will consider the matter, Narcissa, but only to speak if I am called upon. I am uncertain that I can promise more.”

            She nodded and he knew she would not press him further. Now, thanks to the Vow, she likely believed it unnecessary.

            He cleared his throat. “If that is all…”

            “It is not quite all,” she said. “The Ministry of Magic is searching for you for Dumbledore’s murder. Our Lord believes they will be able to trace you to here. I offer you the sanctuary of Malfoy Manor. I came at our Lord’s request… but I would have offered such to you regardless, Severus.”

            He exhaled slowly. How should he feel about this? The development was unsurprising- no great insight was necessary to determine the Wizarding world well beyond even Britain would want his blood as the cost of Albus’ and that his name now topped the Aurors’ wanted lists. He was probably more infamous than Sirius Black had ever been. Was he supposed to be afraid? True, dueling with an Auror- more likely five if they ever found Severus- was nothing to be taken lightly, but he wasn’t scared of death or Azkaban. And certainly, he wasn’t sorrowed to abandon Spinner’s End. Let the entire street burn for all he cared- he’d gladly cast the _Incendio_. He supposed he didn’t really feel anything in response to Narcissa’s news. Life continued. It had a horrible way of doing that whenever it ought to stop. When, Severus wondered, had been the first point in his life that should have been an ending? Did his memory still reach back that far?

            _“How can you continue to regret the past when this is your present?”_ Albus had asked long ago. At least three years in the past, probably more, for Severus recalled it as being said before Voldemort’s resurrection.

            His answer had been, _“I don’t know what horror lies tomorrow.”_

            “Severus?” Narcissa probed.

            He returned his focus upon her. “Of course, Narcissa, I will go with you to the manor. I thank you. What of Wormtail?” he asked. Was it too much to hope that Voldemort would want his rat back?

            Apparently not. “He will return to the Dark Lord and serve him directly,” answered Narcissa, a hint of distaste momentarily marring her features. “You will not need him in my home. I have all the resources for which you could want.”

            So, Voldemort trusted him. Well, had he not said to Severus that he finally judged the Potions Master truly loyal? Of course, if Severus’ allegiance belonged ultimately to the Order of the Phoenix he’d never dare touch Albus. Severus didn’t credit the headmaster with any brilliance in conjecturing that; it was as obvious as the Bludger to the head.

            _I’ve played my part all too well. Was it worth it? It had better damn well be worth it!_ he shouted in his mind, but Albus wasn’t there to answer.

            Wormtail was ordered to prepare and seal the cauldrons in the laboratory; Narcissa summoned seven house elves to pack Severus’ possessions. He found the number excessive and was obliged to snap at them as they tried piling his father’s books into a bottomless carpetbag and prying up the floorboards. He wanted none of his father’s Muggle rubbish- or his own Muggle rubbish for that matter. His father’s name was sufficient baggage. If only calling himself Severus Prince wouldn’t falsely signal bastardry- otherwise he would change his name.

            A loud, metallic clang resounded from the direction of the kitchen. Severus popped his head inside, fully prepared to ground the Fear of Snape into some clumsy house elf, but saw that it was no more disheveled than usual.

            _The lab_ , he realized.

            He bolted through the kitchen and into the other room. Two cauldrons rolled on the floor, both disgorging the same, mud-brown sludge that was slowly spreading across the room. Next to the puddle was Wormtail, shirking away to protect his boots.

Severus recognized the potion on the floor immediately and realized it might as well be his entrails.

            “No.” His former state of bleak contemplation left him entirely, flaring into a panicked rage. “No!” he screeched and Wormtail had the decency to tremble. “You idiot! Damn you, _that was my Polyjuice!_ ”

            “Snape… I…”

            “Damn YOU!” Severus screamed again and then whipped around, stalking back into the kitchen.

            Narcissa stood by the table, holding her hands out towards Severus. “Is there something I can do?” she asked.

            “Find a Time-Turner and kill Wormtail ten minutes ago!” he barked. “Otherwise, Narcissa, let me concentrate!”

            He rolled up his left sleeve and then pulled out his wand. Gritting his teeth, he aimed for his Dark Mark.

            “ _Legilimens!_ ”

            The bond of the Mark gave him no insight into Voldemort’s thoughts. It did, however, allow him to deposit a message into the Dark Lord’s mind, a tangle of thought revealing what Wormtail had done and Severus’ frustrated anger for the man and himself.

            A moment later, his Mark burned. A yelp sounded from the laboratory- Wormtail receiving an identical summons.

            He looked at Narcissa, who had been watching him with obvious apprehension. “I must go,” he told her stiffly. “I shall meet you at the manor.”

            She answered, “All will be prepared for you when you arrive.”

            After acknowledging her words with a nod, he Disapperated. He arrived at Voldemort’s stronghold almost at the same time as Wormtail, the little man popping into place a second after he did. Windowless, the audience chamber was as dim as it had been nights ago. Voldemort stood, pacing before his jade throne while Nagini coiled restlessly. The snake narrowed her eyes at Severus and hissed. In the sconces, the flames burned orange- not red, which gave Severus some measure of relief. Both colors meant anger, but red could be deadly.

            “My Lord,” Wormtail stammered, trembling, “it was an accident-”

            “My Lord,” Severus stated, falling to his knees in obeisance, “it was my fault. I should have overseen the transportation of the Polyjuice Potion-”

            “Indeed you should have!” Voldemort snapped and Severus winced at what he knew was next. “ _Crucio!_ ”

            The pain was hell, but he did not scream. He valued every scrap of dignity he could retain and he knew Voldemort prized servants who could withstand whatever he might dole out.

            “ _Crucio!_ ”

            Beside him, Wormtail shrieked.

 

* * *

 

            Severus’ first step after Apparating to the manor was shaky. He moved slowly, steadying himself. By the time he reached the threshold, he had adjusted his gait to conceal the pain still raking his nerves. Narcissa awaited him in the foyer; he wondered how long she had kept vigil for him.

            “Are you-” she began.

            He held up a hand, silencing her. “I suffered no less than I deserved. I must retire.”

            Narcissa smiled, ever understanding. He found it piteous. How indebted did she consider herself for Draco’s life? If there was a limit to her gratitude, he saw no reason to test it. All he needed was shelter and that he could have asked from Lucius as a favor.

            She led him through the corridors of the manor, past portraits of Malfoy ancestors dating back almost to the founding of Hogwarts. The portraits sneered or smirked at him as was their inclination. A few even leered, but he ignored them. No painting he had encountered in another Death Eater’s home had ever taken kindly to him, as if being pigment lent them the Legilimency to sense his mixed blood. More likely was the explanation that they knew there was a no ancient, noble Wizarding House of Snape.

            There were no portraits in the chamber which Narcissa gave to him. There was a house elf, but he immediately sent it away. The room was furnished with a luxury that Severus, at the moment, was not equipped to appreciate. He laid himself on the bed, twitching as he waiting for the last traces of the Cruciatus to pass. Nothing, he told himself, this was nothing compared to what he had endured before.

 

* * *

 

            _Severus clutched at the sheets of the headmaster’s bed. Above, through the slits of his half-closed eyelids, he could see the bulbs of free-floating Lumos hovering under scarlet drapes. He tried to focus on that, not the lingering throes of pain that came from the Cruciatus cast too many times repeatedly._

_“Why?” Albus asked, guilt a clear note in his voice._

_Severus’ nails pierced the sheets, but the cloth was balled to thickly for him to scrape his palms._

_“He believed my reasons,” he answered through his clenched teeth. “Enough that he wasn’t entirely displeased I had come late. But he said he thought I had left him forever, and that after thirteen years I needed a reminder of what betraying him-” His breath hitched at a particularly strong spike of pain lancing through him, but it passed. “-of what betraying him would cost.”_

_“Oh, Severus…”_

_Albus’ hand was cool on his forehead and on his cheek as the man swept it downwards to caress his face. Then he felt the pressure of Albus’ thoughts teasing against the bubble of his mind, wanting invitation._

_“No,” Severus refused. “I can’t- not so soon after Voldemort’s been there.”_

_And so Albus merely lay beside him and held him as he writhed through the pain._

 

* * *

 

            The house elf, Severus learned the next morning, was named Twenk. She woke him and then announced in a high-pitched squeal that Mistress would like him to join Mistress and young Master for breakfast. Severus wanted to suggest that Twenk stick her head in a cauldron of acid, but was restrained by the knowledge that she would actually do it.

            Still aching from yesterday’s kiss of the Cruciatus, Severus stumbled into the dining room. Instantly, he squinted and held up his hands to shadow his face. The sun blazed brightly through the windows such that the candles, though lit, were completely unnecessary. Severus felt like a bat plucked from its cave. Between the dungeons of Hogwarts and the gloom of Spinner’s End, he had spent too much of his time in the shadows.

  1. Severus accepted his chair with grace, oddly regretting this was not the Great Hall. He had hated breakfasting among squabbling children, but had rather liked the latitude to plop into his chair and growl at anyone who offered him a nicety. A morning person he was not and never had been.



            His plate was empty, but the platter before him was laden with more bread, tarts, and fruit than the three of them could possibly consume. He took a piece of toast and spread raspberry jam on it. An elf asked him if he wanted eggs or sausage; Severus told it no. Albus would have disapproved, clucking that Severus never ate enough and sometimes he was afraid the Potions Master would break. Severus would look into Albus’ eyes and think, _Good. You’re one-hundred-fifty, sometimes I think the things we do will make_ you _break-_

            He stopped, pressing his hands to his lips. This _wasn’t_ Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry- this was Malfoy Manor and he could not entertain such memories here. Biting his toast- the jam was too sweet- he glanced across the table at Draco, who was staring sullenly into his porridge. The boy raised his eyes, briefly meeting Severus’, and looked away quickly.

            Severus remembered six years ago the night McGonagall’s voice had rung through the Great Hall with the name, “Potter, Harry.” Quirrell had stuttered something, but Severus hadn’t heard him. He had felt suspended in a moment of heart’s indecision, in which he hadn’t known what to feel. Then, when the Sorting had ended and the feast had begun, he had slowly turned his eyes towards the Gryffindor table. Surprisingly, it hadn’t been the scar that had struck him. It had been the face that was James Potter’s replica in every way but for Lily Evans’ eyes. In that face was every cruelty he had endured; in those eyes was every sin he had committed, as if fate had molded that child especially to deny all Albus had claimed: Severus could never forget and he could never repent. And though the boy had done nothing, Severus had _hated_ him in that instant.

            He felt exactly the same now as he beheld Draco for the first time since Albus’ death.

            He knew this boy. He knew the attraction of the Dark, what it felt like to look at the world and realize what would make it better, yet no one else gave a damn. Those that claimed the light committed petty evils. They closed doors because of one’s face or name or just because they could. In the Dark, a man was what he could make of himself. If he had the talent and the grasp, he could take what he wanted and those who thought to stop him either stepped aside or fell. It seemed fair that way- until one realized the path to glory was lined by corpses.

            Draco possessed everything Severus had lacked: pureblood, wealth, a father who cared. The boy shouldn’t be a mirror of himself twenty years in the past.

            _“Watch him, Severus. Don’t let him-”_ Albus had stopped.

            And had left Severus to finish, _“Don’t let him make my old mistakes.”_

            It had been vital to the headmaster that Draco not sully his hands with murder. Yet rather than prevent the crime, he had let it fall upon Severus to commit.

            Severus didn’t think he would ever forgive Albus for that. Certainly, he would never forgive himself and he would never forgive Draco. He hated the boy as he hated himself.

            Suddenly, he was struck by a strange disapproval of himself, surely what would have been Albus’ reaction. Should not the self Severus found in Draco make him sympathetic? Surely he should- as Albus would want- still care about the boy’s survival and the purity of his soul. But Albus was _dead_ and that, to Severus, discounted everything the headmaster had said or believed. If there was anything worth salvaging in this world, it wasn’t Draco Malfoy.

            Narcissa’s voice broke like the chime of bells into Severus’ thoughts. “Have you heard Hogwarts might close?” she asked.

            _Oh, God, you stupid woman, how can you say such a thing to me?_ he wanted to snap. Instead, he grunted a noncommittal, “Mmm.”

            “Yes, I’m rather concerned about Draco’s education…”

            He almost laughed. Naturally, the reason Draco would not return to Hogwarts had nothing to do with his stab at murder. The Ministry must be crazed to get their hands on Severus. Who was more wanted? Voldemort? He couldn’t think of anyone else alive who had committed a crime greater than his own.

            Narcissa prattled about tutors and academic philosophy, inquiring after Severus’ thoughts and advice. He made a few polite suggestions despite his apathy towards the topic. He didn’t care what became of Draco just as he didn’t care what became of himself.

            After breakfast, Severus descended to the dungeons of the manor and entered his former laboratory. A host of unpleasant memories from Voldemort’s first reign arose in his mind- old kills, wild schemes that had hinged on his ability to brew complicated potions under stress and ridiculous deadlines- and he shoved them aside. They were nothing he hadn’t examined time and again, both with and without Albus watching his thoughts. He remembered taking pleasure from blood and pain; the disposition of his younger self shamed him more than what he had actually done in those years. He crossed the room- easily twice the size of his laboratory at Hogwarts- and spelled open the giant cabinet that completely spanned the far wall. Its doors folded up like shutters, revealing a dozen extra-long shelves of ingredients both common and rare, benign or deadly if handled improperly. Leave a first-year alone in here and the dunderhead would be dead within five minutes. Even Severus had had his share of near misses and exploding cauldrons in this room.

            Sipping his tea leftover from breakfast- some stupid house elf had dumped sugar in it but he felt too despondent to care- he examined his stores. Quickly, he conceded that tallying the ingredients was an impossible task to accomplish mentally. He set down his teacup and charmed a quill and parchment to hover beside him, recording items and quantities as he spoke them aloud. All the ingredients necessary for Polyjuice Potion were there except, he rued, the lacewing flies and he knew almost certainly that he could not acquire them pre-stewed. Alecto- the single Death Eater Severus had directly invited to Spinner’s End and only out of necessity- supplied his ingredients; if she could procure fresh flies by tomorrow, he could have a cauldron ready in twenty-two days, but by his calculations, Voldemort had only enough juice left for seventeen days…

            _I’m surprised the flames weren’t red_ , Severus thought with a shudder. Someone had been imbibing Polyjuice regularly since November. If the person in question couldn’t take a holiday, his cover was about to be destroyed. Was Severus displeased by this? No, not for the Order’s sake, but he did fear for his own skin. He could only hope that, as before, Voldemort focused the majority of blame and ire on Wormtail.

           When finished with his list, he studied it and created another of supplies that he lacked- there weren’t many, thankfully- then spelled it to fly to Narcissa. She would know to forward it to Alecto. Next, he moved onto the cauldrons and found that the Veritaserum had curdled. Why wasn’t that surprising? He summoned the appropriate jars to his worktable and began preparing their contents. Twenk brought him lunch, which he ate without much attention, although he later noted an aftertaste of chocolate in his mouth.

            He emerged from the laboratory for dinner. Narcissa filled mealtime with more chatter, but Severus noted a nervous quality to her voice. She was pretending- for Draco’s sake, he suspected, as Eileen had done much the same for Severus- that everything was well and would continue to be so. Draco was sullen. He said not a word and did not make eye contact with Severus. Either he feared Legilimency or he was too abashed at his failure. He had been quick to spurn Severus’ warnings and aid only to discover too late how greatly he had needed help.

            Pity seized Severus unsuspected and he slapped it away. Under the table, he clenched his fists. Albus was _dead_. That thought boomed like a klaxon in his head every time he looked at Draco’s face. Albus was dead- and Severus had been the one to kill him because of _this!_ If Narcissa knew his feelings towards her son, she would be horrified. Severus felt beyond caring. Albus, he knew, would want him to continue to protect Draco, but the cost of doing so had proved too dear and there was no point besides. Severus knew the boy’s future; he had lived it. Draco was set on a course to which his birth had cursed him. If Narcissa was right, if Voldemort did intend to punish Draco, Severus decided he would let it happen. He was living a slow death for killing Albus; the boy deserved to suffer, too.

            Desert was lemon pie. Severus accepted a slice for courtesy’s sake, wondering if this was coincidence or fate’s deliberate torture. Lemon had been Albus’ favorite flavor; Severus had many times tasted it second-hand through him.

            _I can’t eat this._

            He had tried to make his grief tidal, allowing it to rise only in privacy, yet it was beginning to overcome him at the Malfoys’ table. And he, who could often choose which emotions to restrain and which to let surge wildly, could not suppress it. He excused himself and hurried back to his bedchamber.

            Sleep was oblivion; however temporary, it was the only peace he had left without Albus. Sleep did not come; he lay in the dark with the now-familiar pain racking his heart. And all this because of a _confectionary_!

            _It is a poison in me_ , he decided. _It needs to be bled._

            He was used to clinging fiercely to whatever emotion gripped him. Grudges had at first given him motive to join the Death Eaters. Now, they allowed him to display the proper hates to convince Voldemort of- if not loyalty- then his sufficient self-interest in following the Dark Lord. Yet this grief he had to expel. He could carry hatred like a millstone because it helped him survive. This sort of self-pity would only get him killed. Never mind he did not deserve it.

            Severus could not recall fully the details of a single time with Albus, except perhaps the very first. There had been so many that they blurred, jumbled together in a weirdly beautiful collage of pleasure and memory. There had been nights of nothing but love, there had been nights when bed was a confessional. Albus had his own share of sins, albeit nothing compared to Severus’ catalogue; most of the headmaster’s care and wisdom had been born from mistakes others had forgotten with Grindelwald’s fall. Tangled in the sheets, having physically sated and exhausted each other, they would stare into each other’s eyes and achieve a level of closeness only possible through Legilimency. They would pick a mind and one would wander through it while the other watched and occasionally commented. Certain chambers of memory necessity had forced Albus to close to Severus; always was the fear that Voldemort would break through Severus’ barrier of Occlumency and discover just how close he was to Albus. But Severus had not been obliged to restrain anything; he hadn’t a single secret or shame that Albus hadn’t known. And no one, he knew, had ever known as much of Albus as he had.

            Other times, they wouldn’t bother to make a choice. Neither entered the other’s mind; they linked theirs together and let their thoughts meld, weaving together in a tapestry of contemplations and dreams. Strange how the one place Severus had felt remotely safe was only a mental construct. In such moments, he had almost felt himself not a waste, not entirely wretched, not completely beyond redemption.

            He wanted more than anything to tangle himself in the coils of Albus’ thoughts again, just one more time. He would give anything for that and knowing so scared him. Anything was a vast range of possibility to one as well versed in the Dark Arts as Severus. Instead, he had to forget any remembrances of unwinding knots within Albus’ mind, of the tapestries they had created. Let such memories linger and Voldemort would find them. Severus had found it easy to shunt tender thoughts aside when he knew could return to Albus’ arms and be reminded of any detail he might forget. Now, he feared these memories fading and crumbling like crushed rosemary- yet the demands of survival were paramount. Tonight, he would banish Albus to the deeper layers of his mind to lay with his other demons.

 

* * *

 

            Narcissa had told Severus that he would become the greatest among them. He had scoffed at that idea and had not believed it even when Voldemort had promised him reward. Thus it was a surprise to discover he had acquired sycophants. Alecto lingered much longer than necessary after delivering the lacewing flies and both Carrows made a social call that managed to eat three hours of Severus’ time. When Yaxley appeared the next day, Severus had had enough.

            “Unless Yaxley is prepared to replace the dragon spittle I’ve wasted on ruined Veritaserum during these interruptions, inform him I haven’t the time to pretend I care what he’s been doing in Wales!” he snapped at Narcissa.

            Narcissa did not take his ire personally, but smiled slyly and said, “As you wish,” in a pleasant tone before leaving him.

            He stirred the lacewing flies slowly. Alecto had been as swift as hoped in procuring them. They had been stewing for three days, leaving eighteen until he could make more Polyjuice Potion, but the Death Eater in disguise had only thirteen days’ worth left…

            Severus exhaled an angry hiss. There was nothing he could do about it and, as he reminded himself, this was to the advantage of the Order of the Phoenix.

            With a pop, Twenk appeared beside him. “Does Master require anything?”

            Severus almost growled at the elf to disappear, but decided to be lenient as he was feeling peckish. “Tea with lemon and sugar and a biscuit.”

            Twenk disappeared and he began preparations for yet another cauldron of Veritaserum. Why did the Dark Lord care about this potion? He was a Legilimens and Occlumency could counteract the effects. If the Ministry ever caught Severus, he would swear under Veritaserum that he had been compelled by Imperius Curse to kill Albus…

            _Stop_ , he ordered himself. He knew where such thoughts led.

            Half an hour later, sipping tea and nibbling a meringue, he watched the Veritaserum in its first stage of simmering. Hopefully this batch would work; the potion was very temperamental. Sometimes he relished the challenge, but more often than not he rued the lost time and spoiled ingredients.

            Footsteps on the stones behind altered Severus to another’s approach. He turned to find Draco standing in the arched doorframe, looking at Severus in such a way that he thought for a moment the boy was inviting him to Legilimency. But no, such boldness was merely something Draco feigned; the rest of his face revealed timidity.

            Hatred twisted like a serpent in Severus’ guts. _Go away!_ he wanted to shriek- away before he did something regrettable. Clenching his teacup, he resolved to appear calm. Malfoy Manor was his sanctuary; Draco could not know of the animosity Severus now harbored for him, never mind that it would grieve Narcissa.

            _Why do I care what Narcissa thinks?_ he asked himself and came to his usual answer: she reminded him too much of Eileen.

            He didn’t need to wonder what Albus would make of his reaction to Draco. The headmaster would be deeply disappointed and, for a moment, he thought he felt Albus’ sorrowed disapproval as if it emanated from himself. To that, Severus had only one response- an inadequate one although it expressed all of his pain.

            _Didn’t I shut you away?_

            He cleared his throat and asked imperiously, “Yes, Mr. Malfoy?”

            Draco took a step into the room. “Sir, I wanted to say… I realize I should have listened to you.”

            _Oh, really?_ Severus would have spat had this been Harry Potter. He wanted to snap the words now, but he only arched an eyebrow and otherwise did not reply. The silence became awkward, prompting Draco to continue.

            “I didn’t strike when I should have. I got caught up in listening to Dumbledore. He said things that disturbed me, he promised me-”

            “Yes, Dumbledore promised you quite a bit I imagine,” Severus interrupted, almost casual in his tone. “He promised me much as well.”

            _And it was far more than I deserved._

            “But you never believed him, did you, sir? I mean… you didn’t care if he could be believed. You knew you weren’t going to turn away from… from…” and here Draco stuttered as if the title carried as much fear as the name.

            The question almost made Severus sick. _You horror, you serpent- you stupid little boy! Go ahead! Step into the darkness! I won’t stop you!_

            Of course, he said none of that. “Is this inquiry necessary, Mr. Malfoy? I think I’ve made my allegiance particularly clear.”

            “Of course, sir, but I-”

            “Go. I have work to do and our Lord will not take it kindly that I idled talking to you.”

            Draco nodded and mumbled, “Of course, sir. I’m sorry, sir.”

            Severus watched the boy leave and found himself wondering at the dissimilarity between him and the young man who had argued so fiercely against assistance months before. Draco had never considered murder with all the gravity it entailed until its moment came. Nor had Severus the first time. But unlike Draco, he had done it.

            _And I think so almost as if I pride myself upon it_ , he thought with a shudder of self-loathing. He hated himself for all the things of which he was capable, of how little effort it took him to still his conscience and _do_ it. But not when put against Albus. No, Severus had been hesitant and Albus had had to bloody _hold his hand_ through the Killing Curse, the same way Narcissa had wanted him to hold Draco’s.

            Pity the boy, as Albus would have wanted? Severus almost snarled. Why pity the boy when he hated himself for the same reasons?

 

* * *

 

            The next evening Severus felt the Mark burn. The pain was different this time, somewhat diluted, typical of the summons for a gathering and not a personal audience. He donned a large, concealing black robe with a cowl and his white mask before Apparating to the stronghold.

            In the gray audience chamber, he stood with the other Death Eaters in a semicircle around Voldemort and his throne. The flames in the sconces bathed the unadorned walls in purple light; purple meant plotting with no dominant emotion such as anger or hate, Severus knew. He supposed he liked purple or, at least, liked it better than green. Green was safer, but it frightened him. What made the Dark Lord happy could only be detrimental to the rest of the world, Wizarding or Muggle. In the corner, Nagini slithered in a slow, circular pattern, stopping to undulate and stare down any who dared to meet her eye. Severus wondered how active Voldemort’s soul-half- or soul-seventh, perhaps- was within her. Should he be employing Occlumency when he looked at her? Turning his attention from the serpent, he looked over those gathered. They were few thanks to the captures made at the Department of Mysteries last year; Voldemort was plotting another attack on Azkaban and Severus dreaded the day. By shape, he could guess which figures might be Bellatrix and Narcissa; by height- and proximity to a woman who was either his aunt or his mother- he identified Draco.

            Voldemort began the meeting with little formality. “In twelve days’ time,” he announced, “we will attack the Ministry of Magic.”

            Severus gave a start; many others stirred. In fact, only one other besides Voldemort did not, a woman Severus had pegged before as either Narcissa or Bellatrix. Definitely Bellatrix, he decided.

            Voldemort continued. “We will attack at the very heart of the Ministry and spread outward. The assault shall begin from within the Minister of Magic’s own office…”

            Severus had always known that Voldemort meant to topple the Ministry, yet he was surprised to hear that the plot would come to fruition so soon, when their numbers were so limited. He listened to aim of Voldemort’s scheme and felt cold inside. This plan was overly ambitious. How could they manage to _start_ from Scrimgeour’s office, not _end_ there?

            _Twelve days_ , Severus thought. The number struck a chord in his mind. In twelve days, there would be no more Polyjuice. _We have someone on the inside!_

            He had to warn the Order. It was imperative, no matter even Horcruxes. Yet, Severus could not conceive of how to contact them. His Patronus? _Albus_ was his Patronus and he did not relish Voldemort discovering that.

            “Snape,” Voldemort suddenly called his name. “It’s time again to put your talents to use. You will lead the attack. Rufus Scrimgeour’s demise is your responsibility, as is the destruction of the Wizengamot.”

            Severus bowed his head. “Yes, my Lord,” he replied and felt sick. Truly, then, he had usurped Bellatrix’s place as Voldemort’s favorite. The killings required of him would not end- they would be worse than before, when he had slain only Aurors and Muggles. Kill Rufus Scrimgeour? He would do it. Certainly, if he could kill the man he loved, he could one whose only importance to him was rank.

            Then the fires in the sconces changed from purple to red.

            “Draco Malfoy, come forth!”

            _So, Narcissa was right_ , Severus thought and glanced towards the woman in question. She clutched her hands to her chest as Draco stepped into the interior of the semicircle and fell to his knees before Voldemort. How would Eileen have reacted to watching Severus writhe under the Cruciatus Curse? He thanked whatever God there was that he did not know. His mother hadn’t even guessed he was a Death Eater before committing suicide when cancer had claimed Tobias.

            “Draco.” The name was grating as it came off Voldemort’s tongue. “Draco Malfoy, you have failed me. It was your task to destroy Dumbledore and in this you faltered.”

            “My Lord… I beg your mercy.” Draco’s voice was timorous, yet Severus noted the quality of his plea was earnestness, not the outright sniveling of Wormtail.

            “Mercy.” There was nothing soft in Voldemort’s tone. “Do you deserve it? We all by now know what befell at Hogwarts. Who here will speak for you? Find me the man and I will consider mercy.”

            _He’s not going to cast the Cruciatus_ , Severus realized. If so, Voldemort would have done it already. _He’s going to kill Draco._

            Narcissa twitched. She wanted to speak, Severus knew, but recognized that Voldemort would not listen to her. He would consider her addled by mother love.

            _I could speak_ , he thought. Whether Voldemort would listen was doubtful, yet he could still attempt it. He had promised Narcissa he would if the moment arose- now was that moment.

            Severus clasped his hands together and closed his eyes.

            _I made no Vow this time._

            For Draco’s sake, he had killed his love. The boy was his mirror and for that Severus knew exactly what he deserved: the very punishment Severus wanted and Albus’ death obliged him to deny himself.

            _See, Albus? Draco will never sully himself now. He won’t have the chance._

            He hated the boy- more than that, he envied him. What a wonderful thing it was to be able to die.

            His resolution to silence was so strong that nothing could sway his mind. He would let Remus Lupin bite his arm in light of the full moon before breaking it. Yet, quite suddenly, his left foot moved forward, followed by his right in an almost mechanical fashion. His mouth began to open.

            _No!_ he cried. He had too much rage inside him, too much pain. He willed his body to still and then to step back, his mouth to close. Panic flooded him as he realized that no part of him was responding. His body had become an automaton, directed by a force he could not perceive. He could not still his lips as they parted or silence his voice as he heard it say, “I will speak for him.” He could only listen to himself in horror.

            Voldemort’s garnet eyes turned upon him and the fires in the room darkened to a vivid scarlet. Severus would have trembled where he stood had his body paid him any heed. He had not _willed_ to move. Something else manipulated his body without warning or effort. This was not the work of an Imperius Curse, for he heard no voice bellowing irrefutable commands in head. Nor was it Legilimency. Severus was too talented an Occlumens not to sense at least a faint awareness of another’s mind, some indication of a source- never mind that he was also too talented for anything less than direct eye contact to work upon him. What had seized him had come from within, not without.

 “Snape…” Voldemort hissed his name, ending it sharply. A warning.

            Severus, suddenly finding that he was again in command of himself, fell to his knees beside Draco.

            “My Lord, the boy did fail in killing Dumbledore,” he acknowledged. “But…”

            He paused. He hadn’t any idea what to say. Something not himself had compelled him here and he had nothing prepared. Then thoughts occurred to him, shaped themselves into words, and he spoke them because at this point he had no choice.

            “But this was all in which he failed you. The boy proved his cleverness in devising a way for our compatriots to enter Hogwarts, a way which not even Dumbledore suspected. He cornered the headmaster and disarmed him. As to why he did not cast the Killing Curse…” Severus paused, his breath hitching. “I can only suppose it was Legilimency. You may recall, my Lord, that Dumbledore tried to communicate with me through such means in his last moments. I believe he gripped Draco’s mind and paralyzed him. Nothing else makes sense when one considers he had the headmaster entirely at his mercy.”

            These were good reasons, Severus decided, as he considered them. Yet from where had they come? Not him- he wanted blood for Albus’ death and if it could not be his own then it should be Draco’s!

            Voldemort stepped foreword and put his hand on Severus’ cheek.

            Severus immediately jerked back. _Don’t-!_ his mind began and he killed the thought. With a familiar stab of self-loathing, he leaned against Voldemort’s cupped hand and looked into his eyes.

            Voldemort thrust into his mind. Severus panicked. He had no mental panoply prepared, too frightened and bewildered by the unknown power that had seized control of him. Then thoughts, framed as if they were his own, fluttered through his consciousness. He felt lost, disconnected from himself, as they passed before Voldemort. Draco Malfoy, such a clever boy, such a valuable mind… Severus’ own presumption in speaking against what he knew were his Lord’s desires frightened him, yet he would regret too much allowing his Lord to cast aside a tool with such potential, especially when Draco’s youth assured he could be tempered into something more lethal than he already was…

            Voldemort withdrew from his mind and Severus heard a final thought, directed at himself.

            _Think of what you would have done for your mother, Severus. And then consider what that means for Draco if, truly, he is your mirror._

            He might have raged against the voice if not for the icy terror clenching his stomach.

            “Severus…” Voldemort’s thumb moved to Severus’ lips, applying a soft pressure against them. Beyond him, the torches flickered blue. “I am much surprised not to be displeased. Yes, the boy has my mercy. He will live.”

 

* * *

 

            In the foyer of Malfoy Manor, Severus stood rigidly, allowing only his hands to quiver. Voldemort’s touch lingered on his cheek, his lips. He was afraid but the _thing_ inside him was furious.

            _He has no right!_ it thought as if it owned Severus. _None!_

            _Who are you to claim what rights anyone has towards me?_ Severus demanded, but the Other did not answer. Such attention from the Dark Lord was to be desired he supposed, remembering Voldemort’s treatment of Regulus Black, whom Albus thought had known of the Horcruxes. Then he shuddered as he decided that, no, replacing Regulus was the worst fate he could imagine. No other betrayal of Albus’ memory would be so complete.

            Draco said something in a tone that suggested fear and gratitude, but his words were insensible to Severus. The boy departed and he began to follow, then felt Narcissa’s hand upon his shoulder. He stopped and turned towards her.

            “Severus,” she said. There was a quality to her voice he could not interpret. Gratitude shined from her eyes, making them radiant, but Severus did not want or deserve it. She smiled and then, balancing herself on her toes, arched her face upwards and kissed him.

            He exhaled a shallow gasp of surprise, breathing into her mouth. She took it as invitation and began to probe his palate. He was so stunned that he allowed it, his body aware of her softness pressed against him and yet his mind failing to interpret whether it was right, wrong, or desirable. A sudden, jealous stab from the Other shocked his senses into reassembling. He placed his hands firmly upon her arms and gently pushed her away.

            “No, Narcissa,” he croaked. “I don’t expect such things from you.”

            “Severus…”

            She spoke his name with longing and reached again for him, but he had already turned from her. Her fingers only brushed his arm as he walked away as quickly as dignity allowed. The portraits glared accusations as he passed, but said nothing. Malfoys, alive or painted, kept their shames as they kept their secrets: silent.

            Twenk appeared the moment Severus entered his bedchamber.

            “Does Master want-”

            “GO AWAY!” Severus screeched and slammed the door shut.

            Twenk disappeared with a pop and he threw himself upon the bed.

            _Lucius is my friend. Narcissa is his wife. I love Albus. I’ve never loved anyone but Albus…_

There had been other liaisons, naturally- even one drunken Halloween of which he only remembered the morning after when he had woken up and nearly shrieked to find Alecto on top of him. He’d hardly gone to Albus’ bed a virgin. Yet with no one else- even those for whom he had felt some affection- had he experienced such depth of emotion. No one else had inspired him to trust or to believe better of himself; no one else could have commanded the attention of his heart for more than ten years. Narcissa’s invitation to adultery could be actual lust, but was more likely a desire to reciprocate. He knew she didn’t truly want him and he certainly didn’t want her. Why then a sudden weakness in his knees and a queasy fluttering in his stomach? Damn Narcissa! Enough chaos stormed his mind without her tossing bad Amortentia into the cauldron.

            He had a more pressing dilemma: what power had gripped him in Voldemort’s fortress? What entity had forced his body to act and created distortions in his mind to protest the vengeance he wanted?

_Not vengeance: revenge. That, unjustified and unnecessary, is what you want._

            Days ago Severus would have thought that voice to be his conscience contradicting his reason. Now he knew it was something more insidious- but that didn’t mean it wasn’t himself. Everything this… this Other, he decided to call it… had said reminded him of Albus and he wondered if he was the cause of it. Was he going insane? Was his longing for Albus so consuming that he was subconsciously mimicking the headmaster’s thought patterns? He knew he was capable of it. Once, the two of them had used Polyjuice to spend a day as each other and not even McGonagall had guessed who was _really_ twinkling at her and offering her a sherbet lemon. Was he playing at being Albus with himself in a perverse attempt to assuage his grief?

            No, because the Other had given him thoughts he doubted would have occurred to him naturally. Absurd as it was- especially for one who had spent enough time in Albus’ head to think of it almost as a sanctuary- he had sometimes caught himself assuming the headmaster was omnipotent as far as Hogwarts was concerned. He had not believed Albus ignorant of Draco’s tinkering with the cabinets, merely that Albus had chosen not to reveal the boy’s plan to him. Nor would he ever have considered that Draco became a Death Eater, as the Other suggested, for Narcissa’s sake.

 _So… I’m not insane_ , Severus decided, but only tentatively. He would return to the possibility once he had exhausted all others. If what he experienced wasn’t a form of mental corruption, then likely it was possession.

            His hands flew to the back of his head. Frantically, he raked his scalp, then took a steadying breath and thoroughly combed the back of his skull. No slits where eyes might grow or a mouth might open to speak and any mirror in this manor would have taunted him if he were balding. So, for now at least, he wasn’t going the way Quirrell had.

            Ginny Weasley had been possessed in 1992, Severus recalled- not by Voldemort directly, but the bit of his soul in his diary Horcrux. Unlike Quirrell, she hadn’t been an aware or willing participant in the possession. Could that be it? Could another Dark wizard have gained control of Severus through contact with a Horcrux?Yet what Horcrux had he been near besides Nagini? Voldemort had no reason to possess him; the Dark Lord surely believed him as thoroughly loyal as Bellatrix.

            _Unless Voldemort knows the truth_ , Severus thought with a thrill of heart-chilling horror. _He knows the reason I really killed Albus- he’s playing me falsely just the way I thought I was tricking him. He never had any intention of killing Draco- it was a test to see if he could control me!_

            Yet why then had Voldemort bothered using Legilimency on Severus? So Severus would not suspect who possessed him? If so, the Dark Lord had certainly failed in that. And why would Voldemort be furious with himself for touching Severus?

            If not Voldemort, than _who_? But that, Severus realized, was a less immediate concern than exorcising the Other. He took a breath and aimed his wand at himself.

            “ _Anima-_ ”

            Fire shot through his hand and then his head. With a roar of pain, he dropped his wand and collapsed onto the carpet, clutching his skull. The burning passed as suddenly as it had flared and he saw that his wand was well within his hand’s reach. He willed to his arm to extend towards it, but the limb did not move.

            “ _Animad_ -” Severus attempted again, even though his magic was worth little without a wand, and suddenly his voice became a croak.

            A panic, twin to his own, jolted from the Other and a second-hand remorse slid through Severus. The Other hadn’t meant to hurt him, but was afraid of the spell- and not for its own sake, Severus was stunned to realize. It feared the impact an exorcism charm strong enough to break a Horcrux would have upon Severus’ soul and body.

 _You only care because I am your vessel!_ Severus cried. _Otherwise, you would leave!_

            But it couldn’t leave. Severus was its anchor.

 _That makes no sense!_ retorted Severus, as frightened as much as he was enraged. _You could only be anchored to me if…_

            No, he thought and again his heart felt touched by ice. He’d know, wouldn’t he? How, by anything sacred or profane, wouldn’t he know? Unless someone had cast an _Obliviate_ upon him…

 _You_ are _Voldemort_ , Severus told the Other. _I was present at a murder you committed and you put yourself in me and then destroyed my memory of it. I-_

            It was too horrible to contemplate, yet he had to frame the truth into words.

_I am a Horcrux._

            Revulsion twisted Severus’ guts with such force he felt pain radiate through his belly. The spirit of Voldemort was magnanimous enough to let him clutch his stomach and curl his body tight. He was essentially a second Nagini. Voldemort knew everything, including the perfect punishment for Severus’ treason- denial of death combined with denial of will. Only if he did as this soul-splinter wished would it allow him command of his own body. It might have killed Albus for Severus if the headmaster hadn’t intervened to help in his murder.

            A sudden rush of sorrow was enough to disabuse Severus of this fear. The Other hadn’t chosen to be here- this was a mistake-

 _Mistake?_ Severus sneered, still frightened but now brave enough feel anger again. _You don’t accidentally make a Horcrux!_

            Intention was everything. An accidental death or a mercy killing didn’t carry the wickedness necessary to warp the fabric of the soul enough to split it. Suicide theoretically could because it was murder of the self, but that suggestion was absurd. How could one _accidentally_ murder and mean it?

            Why need the murder be mistaken, he realized. Presuming that the killing had been intentional, was Severus wrong? Could one accidentally create a Horcrux? Momentarily ignoring the likelihood that the Other was lying, he considered the question. Perhaps if he had been linked to the Other at just the right moment by Legilimency…

            He remembered seeing the sickly green light leave his wand, feel it strike his chest and stop his heart as if he were the one to die…

_No._

            Who had cast the Killing Curse on Albus? Had it been himself? Or had it been _both_ of them?

            The Other answered, not in sensations or concepts but in actual words, in a voice that belonged beyond the pale. _I was beginning to fear, Severus, that you would not realize the truth._

            Severus nearly screamed.

_I was right the first time- I am going insane! My God, it’s finally happened, I’ve finally lost-_

_Severus, please calm_ , Albus requested, attempting to suffuse and soothe him with serenity, but it was in direct conflict with Severus’ frenzied incredulity.

 _You can’t be here!_ he cried. He wanted it to be so, that Albus could still exist, and that was why he was afraid to believe it. _You’re dead! You are DEAD! I killed you- I-_ Severus stopped. _We both killed you._

Whether by the turning of his mind or Albus’ influence- perhaps something of both- the truth unveiled itself. Severus’ hesitancy was to blame. It had obliged Albus to become party to his own murder through Legilimency, enough to tear his soul. That, though remarkable in itself, would have amounted to nothing had Severus not maintained the connection between them. He had clung to Albus’ mind and had not let go, even at the point of termination, wholly unaware of what he would forge.

            His last assumption had been half right, he realized.

            _I…_ It was still a difficult concept to acknowledge even though it no longer entirely terrified him. _I_ am _a Horcrux. Yours, Albus._

He had no idea how he ought to feel. Hope seemed too absurd and fear no longer made sense. What struck him most, he decided, was irony and he almost started to laugh. A Horcrux was one of the darkest forms of magic that existed- Harry Potter would become a Death Eater before Albus Dumbledore would resort to such an enchantment! And yet here they were, sharing space in Severus’ head.

            _You never were dead._

 _No, I suppose not_ , agreed Albus.

            _You never were dead. You’ve been alive in me and you never told me._ Severus remembered grief racking through him. He remembered standing on the dark and broken street of Spinner’s End, hardly able to breathe, wanting nothing so much as to die- _YOU NEVER TOLD ME! YOU LET ME THINK YOU WERE REALLY DEAD!_

 _Severus_ , Albus begged, _please-_

_I have been in AGONY without you and you let me think-_

_I felt everything you experienced, every bit of pain-_

_I don’t CARE! You let me think-_

_I was not immediately aware of myself, Severus. Then when I was, aware enough to judge myself and judge the state of your mind, I thought it best for you to work through your grief._

_My grief? WHAT NECESSITY WAS THERE FOR MY GRIEF!_ he roared.

            An explanation began to form, but he had reached his limit. He had bounded between extremes of despair and terror in too short an interval for anyone to reasonably cope. Overwrought and bombarded by emotions he could not sort or make sensible, he released the sob he had restrained the night of Albus’ almost-death.

            _Oh, Severus._ Albus was genuinely afflicted. _Severus…_

            Albus’ mind overwhelmed his, clouding all thought in a silvery haze. Wave after wave of warmth and love battered against his resistance until it washed away and he was swept up by it, spinning through the tangles of Albus’ thoughts. It was as if his last horror had never been committed- as if, even now, he lay twined with Albus under the bed sheets, staring into the other man’s twinkling blue eyes. Their minds enmeshed, thinking almost as one- they didn’t bother with words, only sensations. Grief was rubbed away in bliss, sorrow failed to sustain itself- again they were together, weaving their thoughts into a tapestry that was the ultimate consummation. Severus had thought this lost to him forever, yet now again, it was his. Albus was his.

 

* * *

 

            His heart no longer felt like a stone when he awoke the next morning. He was in the bed despite having no recollection of getting off the floor and wondered whether he or Albus had commanded his body there. His limbs ached pleasurably, as if he had been physically sated and he wasn’t entirely sure he hadn’t been. Perhaps Albus had more than simulated the sensations of lovemaking last night, but had actually quickened the nerves that would normally respond to his touch. Severus smiled to himself and out of habit extended his hand-

            Though it was expected, he still felt jarred when his fingers met with only air.

            _Not outside me. In me_ , Severus thought and laid his hand on his chest.

            _Good morning_ , Albus responded and lifted Severus’ hand to his lips. It was as close to a kiss as he would ever have from Albus again, Severus realized with a faint stab of loss. Yet he could accept the dissolution of the corporeal elements of their union. What occurred in the space of their minds was the height of exhilaration and communion. He and Albus still linked with as much fullness and intensity as before-

            _This_ , Albus interrupted, _is why I did not want to reveal myself._

            Severus stilled as the explanation that had been lost in last night’s shuffle of confrontation and comfort finally surfaced. A Horcrux never contained all of a soul. Severus had realized that last night, yet had not regarded the fact with proper gravity nor acknowledged its implications.

            _Your other half?_ he questioned, shuddering as he envisioned part of Albus living on as less than a specter.

            _Our circumstance is unique, Severus. This Horcrux was not made in typical fashion. The other half of my soul was allowed to pass beyond the veil._ Then, after a pause, he added, _I intend to rejoin it._

Severus caught his breath. _You intend to die._

_I intended to die before this._

            An accusation occurred to Severus and, although he knew it was unworthy, he could not prevent it from entering Albus’ awareness. _You intend to leave me._

_Severus, how can I stay in you?_

_I could buy a turban._

_That isn’t funny._

            _But why not stay in me, Albus?_ he persisted. _You’ve avoided the greatest deterrent of having a Horcrux: you are alive in a body. You-_

            He paused. Did he really mean to offer this? To relinquish all claim to every part of himself but his mind?

            When the man to whom he would be surrendering was Albus Dumbledore, how could he justify not offering it?

            _You can have my life. The world needs you more than it does Severus Snape._

            Albus’ response was one of sudden fury. _I told you- I told you_ years _ago- I will not be worshipped-_

 _You old goat, I’m not glorifying you- I’m being pragmatic!_ Severus snapped. _You bloody Gryffindor! Some people are inherently better than others and you happen to be one of them! If you were a Slytherin, you would recognize this._

 _But I am not a Slytherin, Severus_ , answered Albus. _I cannot take over your life, nor I can simply be a spectator to it. I must leave you. Somehow, we must find a way for you to cease being my Horcrux without destroying you in the process._

 _We could create a new body_ , Severus began. _I know how Wormtail-_

            _NO._ Albus’ mental voice was sharp and firm. Had he a face to look upon Severus now, it would be stormy with his eyes dark and twinkle fierce. _What we are is unnatural. I will pass beyond the veil, Severus._

            They were quiet for several minutes, Albus’ thoughts at rest in their finality and Severus wordlessly forming a determination. Though it was the last thing he wanted, he knew he would help Albus escape him. The other man was right; they could not stay like this. Severus might revel in the completeness of their union now, but ultimately two were not- even in this state- one. Eventually their relationship would degrade into a debate of practicality versus morals concerning who controlled the body when. More pressing was the fact that Albus was right. A Horcrux, even one forged in love, violated the natural order of life followed by death and then life again. Not even phoenixes were an exception, for they had their own cycle of this. Severus wasn’t typically opposed to breaking rules, not even those of metaphysics- becoming a Death Eater required one to either acknowledge that was precisely Voldemort’s intention or ignore the implications of immortality completely- but Albus saw an inherent beauty to the system. To leave him was the headmaster’s desire. When had Severus denied the other man anything?

            _I denied Albus true death_ , he thought and wondered if that made even love a crime when given by Severus Snape. He had forced Albus to rip his own soul in two. What if those parts could never be reunited? What if Voldemort discovered what he had done? Severus was not entirely sure the Dark Lord would kill him. The half-soul of Albus Dumbledore was surely an inestimable prize. If anyone knew a way to twist it towards something vile, it would be Voldemort. When he had woken, Severus had miraculously felt that he could endure anything. Now, he felt again a horror, with incontestable proof he had never had a right to touch Albus.

            _No, don’t think that way_ , Albus insisted. _You took what I gave and I will never regret it._

His arms wrapped around himself, embracing his body the way Albus would have. Together, two minds in one space, they lay- yet it was little comfort. Albus was with him and, he realized, he had more reasons than ever to be afraid.


End file.
